


Let Me Love You

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock & Ball Torture, Dom/sub, Eggsy Unwin is a Little Shit, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasy Fulfillment, Fluff and Smut, Ice Play, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom, Power Dynamics, Rimming, Topping from the Bottom, and Harry is very into it, switch dynamics, trying new things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23900323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Harry is jealous of Eggsy's honeypots, which doesn’t seem out of the ordinary unless you know the specific type of honeypot Eggsy’s been chosen for lately.And far be it from Eggsy to deny Harry anything he wants… even when what he wants is to be denied what he wants.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 32
Kudos: 152





	Let Me Love You

**Author's Note:**

> I have a number of fics in the works I have promised to people... This is none of them. This one was for me and wouldn't leave me alone til I got it out there. Still, it's dedicated with love to anyone willing to strap in and enjoy!
> 
> On that note, this fic contains (fairly mild) CBT. I won't say "don't try this at home" but I WILL say "do your research and play safely": testicular torsion is nobody's idea of a good time, even by my standards.

Let Me Love You

Agent Galahad is entirely capable of stealing the Crown Jewels without getting caught. He has - mostly as a thought exercise, so he says - devised entirely workable plans for getting at both the models on display to the public in the Tower of London and the real things from their secret location, both working on the assumption that Kingsman’s finest confidence trickster couldn’t simply blah his way in and out with them in plain sight, which is not a safe bet either.

The fact remains that Harry Hart cannot get a damn thing past Eggsy Unwin. 

Eggsy's not sure how hard he's trying, in fairness.

They're in a posh hotel because Eggsy can’t be arsed to drive all the way to Harry's sister's in one go and Harry can’t be arsed to drive at all, and Eggsy is graduating from the school of realising that everything doesn’t have to be done on as tight a budget as humanly possible, so of course Harry felt the need to celebrate that by booking them a room in a fucking four star country house. But it’s not gone well.

There’s the usual hassle with the desk clerk taking one look and assuming that there’s been a booking error and they’ll complain if they have to share a bed, which happens regularly enough that sometimes it’s funny, if they feel like playing it out until the shoe drops, sometimes just irritating. Today’s the latter so Eggsy doesn’t particularly watch his tone when he tells them look, a double’s what they’ve booked, it’s what they’ll have unless there’s a king going, and is about to tell them if there’s a problem they’ll bunk up here on the sofa in the foyer but his point is made and the suite they’re given is decent enough. 

Like, it’s plush as hell but they’re only here for a night, a Premier Inn would have done it and truth be told, Eggsy doesn't appreciate the notion of having to put a bloody suit on just to come down for dinner and a pint in the bar. He does, though, because Harry appreciates it plenty: Eggsy’s been in jeans and a t-shirt all day and he's got a new weekend suit to break in, Harry still reacts to seeing him go from one look to the other like his half hour in the bathroom primping and shaving was some sort of magic trick and that never gets old.

What's the difference in the last star? The service, apparently, in that after the whole check-in thing Eggsy is a hair’s breadth from hopping over the bar and getting their drinks himself by the time someone appears. Sure, Harry's taught him the more-flies-with-honey method but honestly he's tired and a bit fucked off about it so what comes out is the chin-up,  _ I expect better _ sort of coolness that must work, because they're falling over themselves with offers for more drinks,  _ sorry for the wait, the dessert is on the house sirs  _ and Eggsy doesn't even really want dessert. He wants a nightcap and a shag and a good eight hours. 

And he’ll get them eventually, because throughout this, Harry - he realises in poached plums and honeycomb hindsight,  _ maybe I did need some sugar _ \- is flushed and quiet but smiling, a bit fidgety with his drink in a way that's hardwired into Eggsy's lizard brain to mean sex. He doesn't know if it's accidental pavlovian response or deliberate neurolinguistic programming, and there really is no scale low enough to measure the amount of fucks he gives either way: fancy hotel and no alarm call was pretty much a sure bet anyway but Harry doesn't get quite so wonderfully agitated when all he's banking on is a vanilla tumble and a kip. 

Eggsy knows what’s got him riled. The realisation hits him in a fizz of inspiration, like champagne bubbles up the back of the nose. 

He’s being an arsehole,  _ and Harry likes it.  _

He can’t remember what little comment, or glance, or muscle tension gave him away but Eggsy’s known for a while: Harry gets jealous of his honeypots. 

...which doesn't sound at all out of the ordinary, put like that, unless you know the specific type of honeypot mission Eggsy gets chosen for these days.

He doesn’t ask for them - well, he might, now - but lately Kingsman specifically like to parade him out as bait for the types of rich older men who are used to being able to have whatever they want and don’t know how to handle it when they can’t. He’s of a type, he guesses, and they know just who to put him in front of all done up much like he is now, when to tell him to play aloof, elite, like he can do so much better and he knows it. The last bit’s accurate, at least, and it’s amazing how thirsty they still are for him when he looks disinterested: like being off limits makes them want him more. 

He never thought it was a role he’d be particularly good at. Eggsy’s always considered himself a giving lover - yeah,  _ a good time, not a long time  _ maybe in his younger years but stamina has come to him with practice - and he prides himself on enthusiasm, in taking true pleasure in making sure his partner gets their rocks off and wakes up with a twinkle. But then, he’d had to butter up some absolutely  _ minging _ marks, and even with the occasional fit ones, he'd come to understand that whole thing about not fancying a Macdonald’s when you've got steak at home. Hard to get up the enthusiasm for even the most attractive random when you happen to know Harry Hart is waiting in your bed, possibly in silk pyjamas, equally possibly wanking over the thought of you looking down your nose at someone who’d risk it all to see you naked and might quite possibly give up state secrets for a chance to suck your cock.

Because for whatever reason - and generally being a total filth merchant is reason enough, Eggsy guesses, it’s not like it’s Harry’s weirdest kink - the whole scenario is one that turns Harry on. Harry looks at those marks Eggsy strings along, teases and denies, or eventually entertains if there's a good enough offer but you know damn well it's them doing all the  _ entertaining  _ if he's let them get that far... 

And thinks  _ god I wish that were me. _

It makes no sense, but it’s hot what an unrepentant freak the man is so Eggsy was always going to give it a go.

Perhaps that was instrumental in him not reigning it in when he felt that stroppy no-patience-for-this-bollocks look settling onto his face tonight. They have got a lovely room, after all, luxe and well-appointed just like Eggsy’s suit and his aftershave, and Harry is hot on his heels to it. Quiet, all the way up all the staircases, even when Eggsy stops to get a bucket of ice and Harry should probably pick up on the fact they don’t have any drinks to chill, he _is_ a spy but also refreshingly stupid when he’s horny, so Eggsy lets it slide. It's a good sign.

He never got as far as calling him out on it. Harry had sussed somehow that the jig was up so it came out in one of those  _ 'is there anything you want' _ conversations that sometimes leads to silly outfits or daft locations or cheesy roleplay and sometimes more off the wall stuff _.  _ They're healthy, he thinks, those chats that result from their mad mutual desperation to be absolutely everything the other wants, and maybe it is weird but it's good for the soul, also results in the hottest sex known to man so you won’t catch Eggsy complaining. 

The request was simple if a bit bonkers, and amounted to Eggsy treating him like shit. 

" _ Just for the night. And do give it to me eventually _ ,  _ but make me beg. " _

_ Right.  _

There’d been a plan ever since, slowly getting filled out in the pervy corner of Eggsy’s mind that keeps him entertained on long stake outs: waiting for him to find the footing, to feel like he’s got the nads to pull the character off, or to catch Harry looking at him like he’d crawl through broken glass for the chance to fold Eggsy's pants. So tonight’s the night. 

There are two ways, as far as Eggsy knows, to make Harry Hart beg. The first is to withhold what he wants, which sounds easier than it is because what he wants is also what Eggsy wants, generally, and working out why you would be denying either of you that when you're well on your way to coming your brains out is not always practical, but it’s easy enough in theory.

The other is to get him by the balls. 

Literally. Apparently that's why that scene in Casino Royale still makes them all wince: in reality baddies will break your bones and brand your skin and put blades up to your eyeballs but they very very rarely touch your junk. Maybe it's a respect thing, a kind of unspoken code, or just because it doesn’t occur to them but the net result is that they've all built up their fortitude to deal with trauma to pretty much every part of the body but, in Harry's case at least, as soon as the crown jewels are involved the brain just sort of goes  _ pain?! Sex?!  _ a nd short circuits, rendering him an unusually helpless whimpering mess. 

Eggsy has not exploited that nearly enough, as it turns out. 

" _ Darling I've been tortured. A little rough handling from you wont kill me." _

_ "Well that's reassuring _ ." He’d hashed out the basics and yes, Harry  _ did _ mean exactly what he's understood even if it does make Eggsy's own balls feel like they're going to fuck off and hide just thinking about it. " _ And you'll… like that?" _

_ "Absolutely not. I expect for a few moments it will be absolutely the worst thing that's ever happened to me and I will cry and plead and call you every name under the sun."  _

_ "And you want me to do it anyway." _

_ "Oh, yes please." _

He should ask, probably, about now? He knows that, but sometimes it pops the bubble just a little bit, and if he’s right Harry is already in that perfect headspace and he doesn't want to interrupt it. The physical stuff’s okay - he’s done the relevant homework - but this is about those mind games, about getting inside how Harry wants to feel, and working out how to make him feel it. And he's got plenty of experience from that on the receiving end, of how expert Harry is at understanding what about serving and being petted and praised - and occasionally punished, just a little, if he invites it by being extra cheeky - flicks Eggsy’s buttons so that he gets it right every time. And he wants that: wants to make Harry feel that jelly-hot feeling, that deep in the guts kick of wrong-but-right-and- _ good. _

_ Be yourself _ , says the little Disney voice in Eggsy’s head, and he  _ tsks  _ playfully at the the way Harry’s eyes bore into him whilst he unlocks their room, the way he's shifting on his feet.

"Dunno what you're drooling for. I been driving all day." He stops short of saying  _ you ain't getting it _ because it would be a patent lie but the threat is clearly implied, and Harry looks up in shock for a second until he reads Eggsy’s grin, and picks up what he’s putting down. They’re good like that.

"Nothing needs to, ah," Harry wipes his thumb across his bottom lip and yes Eggsy would love to fuck his mouth thank you but it may not be on the cards, actually, "...be terribly taxing for you."

"Damn right it don't.” He gives Harry a deliberate look, inside, once the door’s shut: top to toe and back up, and tries to make sure his face is something like indifferent, even though Harry is not miraculously any less fucking fine than ever. Something like,  _ you’re the best offer I’ve got but that’s not saying much. _

He thinks he manages, because  Harry's gaze drops, and Eggsy thinks he sees him bite his lip to cover a smile, or hold in the urge to encourage him. He stays exactly still whilst Eggsy circles in on him; takes Harry's chin between finger and thumb to tilt his head; musses that perfect hair with a push of his fingers. 

"You say stop, and I stop, okay?"

"Mmm."

He sounds so pleased… which means he’s not taking it as seriously as he reckons he wants to and, well, there's a perfect chance to run with it, ain't there. Eggsy tightens his grip in Harry's hair. 

"I said,  _ okay? _ "

"Okay, yes. Fuck, yes."

"Good. Well. If you want it that badly." He shoots his cuffs and turns his hands up. "Get on with it." 

Dutifully, Harry begins by taking Eggsy's jacket for him, then unfastening his tie and buttons. So far, so good: if Harry didn’t understand what they were playing at Eggsy’s fairly sure he’d have told him to get fucked, but he’s obedient in that savouring way that means he’s loving it. Harry starts stripping him as he usually would, then: fingertips brushing Eggsy’s collarbones, hands going as though to palm his pecs but Eggsy gives him a look and he stops, goes back to just taking his shirt off him, folds it loosely and lays it on the dresser. The tiniest little shiver goes down Eggsy’s back, then another when he realises it might be because he actually likes it: likes the simple power Harry gives over to him so easily, so happily, and everything it promises. 

The room is warm - ice in the bucket melting quick - and softly lit, and this could be a night for romance if they wanted it but they get plenty of that at home. Harry’s got a blatant hard-on for Eggsy being mean and who knows when it would come this naturally again? Takes some bollocks to do any of what he’s just about to do to a man like Harry Hart.

Eggsy looks pointedly at the floor and back up at Harry - he's not going to start barking orders until they get into it, if he can help it - and of course Harry responds to the command of his body language by eagerly and immediately getting on his knees. Eggsy does his best to roll his eyes and look bored but there’s a thrill, just something fierce in the tension there: they both know Harry would get down and kiss Eggsy's shoes if he was asked. They’re not quite at that yet, and Harry looks like he doesn’t want to spook him, but he’s deft and competent, unquestioning, with the laces and taking of Eggsy’s shoes, then socks. Takes a little too long about that: Eggsy is still trying to figure out if he’s hiding a feet kink as well, not that it matters.

"I'll do the rest.” Just so that he can watch the look in Harry’s eyes, see his hands fidget with restrained want as Eggsy unbuckles his belt and lowers his trousers; pushes his boxers down slowly to give a tease at his thickening cock, hanging heavy as he steps out of the last of his clothes, almost hard by the time he stands up chiefly because if the way Harry’s looking at him, at it, like he really is one breath off drooling, like he wants it that badly.

But giving Harry everything he wants is not the name of the game here. 

Eggsy steps forward and Harry opens his mouth, but instead of feeding him his cock Eggsy turns around and twists over his shoulder so that he can watch Harry's face whilst he gets a hand back, buries it in Harry's hair to grip and brings Harry's face to his arse. 

This is not  _ not _ giving Harry what he wants, because to be fair the only thing Harry enjoys more than doing this is being asked for it, let alone forced to, but it won’t be what he’s expecting and the eager groan before he’s muffled is evidence of that much. The flutter of nerves drowns before Eggsy has to acknowledge it: he’s nailing this and it feels  _ good.  _

He doesn’t really push. Doesn't need to, because Harry’s in there like he’s grateful to be given the chance: nose pressed right up against Eggsy’s tailbone, tongue quick and wonderful against his hole and Eggsy has to bite his lip so he doesn’t give himself away. He knows that the point of this isn’t for Harry to resist him, but it’s amazing just how eager he is, how the only tension on his grip is Harry trying to get in further, to get at him more.

"Fuck, how are you that desperate?" He hopes Harry can hear it as disdainful, if he wants. Honestly it's more like fucking wonder but he's got to give Harry his whole fantasy , otherwise hes just being a dick, so he pulls his hair again, as though the angle isn’t good enough. He's going to end up with a pulled muscle twisting back to watch him bury his face in but it’s just fucking beautiful, not that he can see much: his hand round the back of Harry's head, the bulge of Harry's erection in his lap, but he gets to feel the way Harry moans when Eggsy rubs his face in just a bit more. Can he even breathe? To be fair Harry’s never cared before, he’s not about to start tonight. 

Harry's hands fidget by his sides, like he doesn't know what to do with them; like he's fighting the urge to grab and spread Eggsy's arse because he hasn't been given permission and his mouth is too busy to ask. One wanders into his lap to rub at his cock through his trousers, which is just mind blowingly hot and Eggsy absolutely cannot be having that. 

Grabbing for the bucket, Eggsy drops to his knees to face Harry who looks wondrously confused; he’s fucking  _ blushing _ and that’s a rare treat indeed. Eggsy makes as if to kiss him and then doesn’t, very deliberately; he undoes a couple of Harry’s buttons and the zip of his fly and Harry’s cock springs out at him, so hard he’s leaking which is also unusual for him, and Eggsy wraps his hand over it to tease that little drop away on a stroke. Harry rumbles in his chest and breathes a shaky sigh of bliss.

Eggsy takes an ice cube and draws it down Harry’s neck, onto his shirt to trace around his nipple through the cotton and make his eyelids flutter shut, which is exactly the opportunity he needs to tuck the ice into his palm and close it around the head of Harry’s cock.

It takes every shred of composure he’s learned to keep the poker face on because he knew full well Harry was going to make a noise he’d never heard before and if anything it’s like the yip of an injured dog; his eyes flash open full of crazed anguish and then, sure as hell, in comes the molten look of want even though his lips are trembling. 

This man is something fucking else.

Harry softens but twitches, and as soon as Eggsy lets up, stiffens again. Eggsy can hardly believe it but he does, so he doesn’t bother swallowing down the fascinated chuckle as he traces the veins with a point of ice and watches Harry’s balls draw up. Even still, his cock throbs in Eggsy's hand. Un-fucking-believable. 

“What - “ Harry swallows and finds his voice at last. It’s even more wrecked than Eggsy hoped, even if the wobble of uncertainty is acting. It’s meant to be, after all. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever the fuck I want. What’s it look like?” Eggsy’s own excitement perks back to full force now he knows he’s got it right, but he keeps a lid on it. Something in Harry’s eyes is so eager he can tell he’s trying not to break character to tell Eggsy to keep going, even through the shock. He takes Harry’s hand, kisses his knuckles, and rests it on the lip of the bucket. “Now, you’re going to keep that up until I tell you to stop. You ain’t going to be any fun for me if you spunk all over the floor.”

Harry’s jaw drops open as Eggsy stands up.

“You think I’m joking? Try me.”

Eggsy doesn’t watch it land. No hesitation, now: in the momentum he’s actually starting to feel it. He turns around to present himself again and along with Harry’s mouth he feels a helpless whine against his skin, the sharp huff of air out of Harry’s nose as he does exactly as instructed, and gets to work.

He can barely believe he's actually doing it. Eggsy’s hand is still cool when he holds his own cock, which eases the throbbing, buys him some time. Harry’s mouth is so gentle, so patiently wonderful against him, his little grunts of pleased effort only making it better, although - “Uh, that is not the noise I would be making with ice on my knob. You’re not slacking?” 

...because despite himself he really does want to hear that half shriek out of him again; to know Harry wants him enough to do that. 

There’s a pause between licks and it’s almost a howl, this time.  And that’s enough. Because it also makes him shiver, and Eggsy does want him to have plenty of time to recoup before the real action.

“Alright, you can drop the ice. Got better things for your hands to be doing.”

He throws Harry the lube - narrowly missing chucking it in the ice bucket, god that's not a nice thought at this moment - and sees the completely sideswiped look on his face for just a second before he turns around and bends over the edge of the bed. The thick, warm sheets are wonderful against his amped-up skin. Eggsy’s not going to spell it out for him: Harry will catch up with the programme in his own sweet time.

When he does it’s with his mouth again first: one hand hot and the other freezing cold, holding Eggsy open so tenderly so that Harry can lick him properly. Eggsy can feel his pulse in all his tender points, hear it inside his ears, and of all of this the bit he really can't get his brain around is that this is how he gets made to feel for being a total bastard.

“May I -” It comes with the absence of Harry’s hands, suddenly, and the click of a cap, so Eggsy just tells him to  _ get on with it  _ and Harry doesn’t try to finish. 

Eggsy lets his weight drop into the bed and relaxes for Harry's slick fingers pushing into him, starting to massage him from inside out, pleasuring him and working him open all at once. He keeps going with his tongue too, kissing around and down to Eggsy's balls but not straying far enough to get a telling off, always coming back to the heaven-soft rimming and if Eggsy were actually being cruel and selfish he could lay there just like that, for hours… except maybe he couldn’t. Somewhere between the rub of fingertips against his prostate and the kiss of hot wet tongue it's so good he almost feels sick, so dizzyingly sweet and full but not full enough, the way only Harry has ever made him forget the urge to get off under the urge to get absolutely railed. It's a talent, not that he’ll tell him that tonight.

"Get up." He pulls Harry up by his wet collar and shoves him at the bed. He might not be fully acting at this point. "You're gonna fuck me now."

Harry doesn't speak a word but his blown dark eyes say it all, and he strips off as quickly as he can. Eggsy kneels on the bed whilst he waits for him, stroking his cock with a bit of lube and Harry looks so lost, so willing, so fucking hungry Eggsy just wants to kiss him. 

But blowing his mind’s way more fun.

He doesn't tease Harry for the way he flounders trying to work out what position Eggsy wants him in, maybe having a little moment about whether the offer will be null and void if he gets it wrong. He maneuvers him there himself, yanking Harry up the bed by his underarms and chucking him down on his back so hard he bounces the mattress before straddling him. They'll both have bruises in the morning at this rate.  Eggsy lines up and sinks down without any of the usual teasing or savouring, although it does make his breath hitch and his eyes want to roll, because fuck it feels so good and it's so hard not to tell him. They’re grounding, those first few seconds of bodily connection and if Eggsy had been worried, Harry’s cock is brand-hot again and fills him as hard and as beautifully as ever. 

Harry surges up to put his mouth to Eggsy’s neck, but never gets there: Eggsy grabs him by the hair and pulls him sharply away. 

"The fuck makes you think you get to kiss me?"

Hit or miss on three, two one-

Harry shudders, sighs through his teeth and melts back into the bed. 

The best way to sell it is to mean it, and safe in this no lose scenario, Eggsy rides exactly like he wants to. Gets his heels under himself and his hands rough, heavy on Harry's ribs trying to get his balance, not caring if he hurts him whilst he works out the best angle for himself and starts to bounce. If the position feels good for Harry then great, he'll get to go to phase two of making him suffer for wanting it too much. If it doesn't, Harry's that far gone he'll get off on Eggsy not caring about him. Same difference, Eggsy understands that much about how all this works even if he’ll never quite get why. 

But it does work. Eggsy is lifting up and driving down in his own sweet time, chasing the way each surge makes his nerves light up, until his thighs start burning and then he sits and gets it by tilting his hips back and forth instead, working Harry's cockhead over his prostate so tight it makes his mouth fill with saliva, makes his face sweat.

He could almost actually ignore Harry, really channel the whole thing about him being like a toy if it weren’t for the strangled whimper noise he's making. Eggsy knows that this is his favourite position even if he'd never say so, knows at the most innocent of times what it does to Harry to feel like Eggsy is using his body for pleasure, and now Eggsy is playing to that and Harry is shaking apart with it, turning red with the effort of holding it together and the shame of the blatant fact that the rough treatment isn't doing a damn thing to put him off.

"Oh, God, Eggsy I don't think I can-" 

"Well you'd better." Eggsy was ready for this. He reaches back so that he can get a very good, tight, very careful grip on Harry's balls, which is difficult enough because of how tight they're drawn, and leans so that he can watch Harry's reaction, so that Harry can see how deliberate this is. So that Harry will understand that Eggsy knows exactly what he’s doing as he squeezes with his thumb and forefinger until they're touching with just the thin skin of Harry's sac between them, his balls spread either side of the pinch, and pulls.

"That… hurts," trembles Harry, wide eyed, sounding as weak as Eggsy has ever heard him. Of course it hurts, he knows, he tried it on himself so he'd know what the correct pressure point felt like, would know when he had the right hold. And it must be right because Harry's eyes are watering, or he's close to tears, but he doesn't ask to stop 

"It’s meant to. Didn't get up here to get you off." He applies a little more pressure and ignores the pull towards sympathy making him want to back off, because Harry's response is spot on, this is what he wanted. What he asked for. What he never thought Eggsy would give him. "Maybe this will slow you down a bit. Or shall I go get the ice?"

Harry shakes his head madly, strung too tense to speak.

“Thought not.”

Eggsy starts to roll his hips again, long and slow. It feels fucking magical even if it is hard work on the abs and he  _ knows  _ how much Harry loves the full display of his rippling body, the slow drag of slick grip along Harry's cock. It's a little more bearably good for him, too: he needs to last a little longer himself for it to be as close a call as he can make it, to fire Harry right up into that desperation to please, that dizzy borderline fear that he loves, and keep him right there whilst he gets to watch Eggsy come. 

Eggsy takes a steadying breath for both of them, checks position with his thumb, holds Harry's balls hard in the cup of his hand and twists. 

Harry cries out in real pain and Eggsy has to remind himself  _ he loves this, he’s getting off on this so much  _ and the proof is there in how thick and stiff Harry still is inside him - Eggsy thinks he can feel the thump of his pulse, feel him twitching - his hard chest gleaming with sweat, heaving with the effort of holding it together even through the pain. He’s amazing.

"You want me to stop?" Eggsy waits until he’s got the earnest  _ "no"  _ to add the best sneer he can manage and "I can just hop off and finish myself off, if you're not going to do what I want."

“No, please -” Harry fights his wince and swallows thickly, sweat sparkling on his face. “I'll do anything. You can do anything." 

“Better.” And Eggsy really does just want to get off at this point. He aches with it, his body tired and teased by the fucking on his own terms, by being allowed to do what he wants with Harry's cock, to choose his pace, to tweak his balls again and feel that cock hitch and thump right into his sweet spot. He's gentler, seeking that again: stroking Harry's balls with his thumb and rolling them, loving the way Harry’s dick pusles in response to the pleasure even whilst his teeth clench with the fear Eggsy might take it away. He can see how the power gets addictive, and he didn’t know he could do this, let alone get off on it, but getting a reaction like this out of Harry will do it for him every time, and Eggsy can see the bliss going through Harry's body in shivers as he gets back to fucking himself on top. He feels how close he is in his breathing, can see the worry written plain on his face that he isn't going to manage to do the one thing Eggsy wants of him.

"You  _ dare."  _ Eggsy pulls Harry to look at him by the chin and stares him hard in the eyes.  _ " _ You dare fucking come til I'm finished."

He watches Harry grit his teeth and wince something like a prayer, desperately trying to hold on, and rides like hell because he doesn’t actually want Harry to lose. Game’s over when you blow your load, isn’t it, he can’t imagine he’d want a real punishment  _ after  _ he’s done and Eggsy hasn’t planned one anyway. 

He won’t need it. He’s so close, so hot and full and the look on Harry's face, knowing what this is doing to him puts that flame of need right under it. Eggsy spits in his hand, wraps it round his cock and finds his nerves so primed that he starts coming almost straight away, pleasure lurching up through him and sparkling back down like fireworks. He slows his bouncing and just sits seizing tight around Harry's cock as those embers of pleasure shower through his body and come pulses up over his fist, pools in his lap, keeps pumping out as he shudders through it, just gently rocking his hips to wring out the aftershocks. 

Panting, barely done coming, he holds his dripping fingers in Harry's face.

"Clean."

Harry closes his mouth around Eggsy's fingers and loses it completely, crying out louder than he did when he was in real pain. The kick of his hips would be enough to chuck a lighter man off the bed and the hot throb of his orgasm seems to go on forever before he softens, the rest of his body before his dick, sinking back down to the bed, breathless, dragging Eggsy down on top of him.

Eggsy puts their foreheads together and spends a while just breathing in Harry's shaky laughter, his almost triumphant little kisses before he has to pull back. 

"I'm not chipping you off, I'm going to get a flannel."

Because it feels only right that he does the cleaning up, even if his legs feel like he’s just done a 10k. Harry got what he wanted, for sure, but he needs to do something to bring them back to the real world, set them right, remind Harry that in the sane version of the universe Eggsy treats him, his body, like a treasure. So h e mops them down and brings Harry his PJs from the case.

He thinks he's asleep for a second, passed out on him already but Harry is just lying still with his eyes closed, breathing deep, Eggsy’s favourite fucked-out little smile on his lips and Eggsy knows that whole episode is filtering through whatever whatever systems keep Harry's incredible mind working the way it does… and straight into the wank bank. 

He’ll call that a job well done, every time, and now he needs the rest. 

"Can we… uh?" Eggsy rolls into the duvet and tries to lift it over Harry, who looks plenty like the reason he isn’t moving is that he’s too blissful but there’s a little quaver in the back of Eggsy’s head that needs to be reassured with his whole body. "I feel like a total dick. I need a cuddle."

"A cuddle?" Harry jolts into action, scoops him into his arms and almost cradles Eggsy against him, kissing his cheek, his temple. "My boy. What you need is an Oscar. That was… you really do that incredibly well."

“Yeah?” Eggsy isn't quite sure how to take that, at first, but settles on it being a compliment considering he was going for making Harry's dreams come to life and seems to have managed it. It's not his fault Harry dreams of some fucking weird shit. It tends to work out. "So what, we're adding  _ Eggsy when he's hangry _ to your list of weird fetishes?"

Harry shrugs, bang to rights as usual, dopey in that way he only gets after a top tier shag or four martinis.

"Careful. I'll make you miss breakfast and take my chances."

And just like that they're back in the room, but actually it ain’t funny: the one thing that stopped Eggsy walking out after the first hotel fuck up was how banging their fry up sounded. He gives Harry a look he feels like he's mastered now. 

"You fucking dare."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Times are tough and if you've got any encouraging words for me, I'd love them.
> 
> You are also invited to pester me on [twitter ](https://www.twitter.com/agentsnakebite) and [ tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/randomactsofviolence).


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